


Windfall

by pibroch (littleblackdog)



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Age Difference, First Love, First Time, Humor, Karl has horrible taste in erotic fiction, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Rimming, Romance, Sexy shenanigans in Kinloch Hold, Teacher-Student Relationship, Virginity, a little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:50:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackdog/pseuds/pibroch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The book Anders had found was that Nevarran trash with the ridiculous title— "Fang of the Dragonlord" or something equally mortifying. It could hardly be called a story, with only the barest vestiges of plot holding together scene after scene of filthy smut, and it was so embarrassingly dog-eared. Suddenly, setting himself on fire didn’t seem like that terrible an option.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Between Karl's insistent internal monologue and Anders' ticklish feet, eventually they manage to have sex for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Windfall

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the DA k!meme a while ago, and I'd intended to post it here as well, but it slipped my mind.
> 
> The prompt that inspired this story was a straightforward one: "Karl taking Anders's virginity while they're in the tower."

Karl balled his fists at his sides, fighting with every ounce of his willpower to keep sparks from sizzling around his hands. Or, at this point, to keep _steam_ from coming out his _ears._ How _dare_ they—  
  
He kept his pace even, controlled, and walked calmly out of Irving’s office and down the curving hallway towards his quarters. He was a good little mage, an obedient beast, leashed and toothless— he would give no reason for the templars lurking throughout the corridors to give him a second look. He could not afford to be stopped today, to suffer even a moment’s suspicious glance through the sinister eye slit of a helm. Maker preserve him, he had not a sliver of patience left.  
  
_Thekla._ Greagoir had called him _Thekla_ , with the very same tone of deep respect one might call up to pronounce _dogshit_. Not once in the entire meeting ( _scolding_ ) had the Knight-Commander called him Enchanter. Irving had not corrected him, either.  
  
Perhaps it was deserved; they’d taken all his classes from him, after all. Temporarily, of course, just until he could better formulate his curriculum to something less… radical. No more teaching the apprentices until he could be trusted to show them how to bow and scrape properly, instead of use their gifts to full potential—  
  
Coming up on another doorway, Karl sidestepped an older tranquil woman carrying an armload of tomes, her steps perfectly measured. He might have stopped and offered his assistance, but she wouldn’t have taken more than she could carry. She wouldn’t even think to cut corners, or overextend herself. She would hardly _think_ at all, going about her routine with all the initiative of an animated corpse, minus the foul smell.  
  
He could taste nothing but bile.  
  
It was still hours before supper, and it was likely he’d have the rooms to himself for once, which was perhaps the only bright spot in this otherwise miserable day. He did not feel emotionally prepared to deal with his fellow mages at the moment, and neither Dermot nor Niall deserved his temper. Keeping his head down, Karl closed the last few steps and slipped inside the relatively private space, pushing the door closed behind himself and finding the rooms as quiet as he’d hoped. It was imagined privacy— no locks on the main door, and no bloody _doors_ on the bedroom areas, but it was better than tearing his hair out in the middle of the Great Hall.  
  
Striding quickly past Niall’s haphazard sty, with robes and notes scattered over every available surface, and Dermot’s perfectly ordinary space, Karl scratched absently at the sparse, tawny scruff he’d begun to grow a few days before. It was a small, trivial thing, preparing for the winter winds that would begin chilling the Tower within a week or two; now the idea of a beard brought up thoughts of Greagoir’s sanctimonious moue and Irving’s disappointed tutting.  
  
He was going to shave, _now_ , or he was going to set his face on fire.  
  
He’d been Harrowed before both of his roommates, moved up out of the apprentice dorms more years ago than he cared to recall most days, and thus had claimed the last bedroom space in the row, farthest away from the doorway. He also had the softest mattress, possibly in the entire Tower, which had taken an incredible amount of bribery and sweet-talking. His back thanked him, however, especially after long hours of pouring over books in the library, or trying to teach stone fist spells to over-eager apprentices.  
  
As he came around the fabric screen he used to block his bed and bathtub from view, however, Karl found his sinfully soft mattress wasn’t quite as empty as he’d expected.  
  
It was… still quite sinful, however.

“Anders?” Oh Maker, this was the last thing he needed. “What in Andraste’s name do you think you’re doing?”  
  
“Reading,” the young man answered absently, lying on his back with a familiar, cheaply bound book held in one hand. Licking the tip of one long finger (and making a show of doing so, Maker preserve him), Anders flipped a page and lolled his head over to smirk saucily at Karl. “Waiting for you. You’ve some terribly dirty books hidden away, Enchanter Thekla.”  
  
_Shit_ , it was that Nevarran trash with the ridiculous title— _Fang of the Dragonlord_ or something equally mortifying. It could hardly be called a story, with only the barest vestiges of plot holding together scene after scene of filthy smut, and it was so embarrassingly _dog-eared_. Suddenly, setting himself on fire didn’t seem like that terrible an option.  
  
Oh, and Anders was completely naked. He couldn’t overlook that part.  
  
“What are you—” he began to say, though it sounded closer to a strangled squeak than actual words, but then Anders was speaking over him, with that taut, youthful body spread over his quilts, like golden frosting on a wickedly naughty cake.  
  
“This bit in the bathhouse is especially nice.” _Which bit in the bathhouse? There are several, including that one with the wooden paddle—_ “If you wanted to have a seat, I could read it to you. Or you could read it to me.” The boy— the _young man_ — rolled over onto his side, letting the book drop onto the bed and propping his chin up with a hand.  
  
_Blessed Andraste, bride of the Maker, look at that **cock** , so lovely and thick, and already half-hard… Fuck, has he been touching himself in my **bed**?_  
  
Half-hard, with those glittering amber eyes and cheeky smile. His hair looked silky, hanging loose and glossy around his pale shoulders. Karl could feel his own fingernails digging into his palms. “Though judging by the look of the book, you might be able to recite some passages, Enchanter. What do you think?”  
  
_I think there are so many better things you could do with that sweet mouth besides sass me._  
  
“I think you should get dressed, Anders,” he said tightly, willing the flush warming his face to subside. “And I think you should go back down to the dorms before you’re caught up here.”  
  
“Rumour has it I’m due to be Harrowed this week,” Anders continued, as if Karl hadn’t spoken at all. He also rolled over a bit more, until he was lying on his stomach, the pert, freckled globes of his arse flexing in the light of the braziers.  
  
_His cock is pressed against my bedclothes; it’s rubbing, **leaking** against my quilts. Maker, did he just thrust his hips?_  
  
“After my last dip in the lake, I didn’t think they’d wait much longer. Do you think we’ll be neighbours, Enchanter, when I move up to the mage quarters?”  
  
He needed to remain calm and controlled, precisely as he’d done in Irving’s office. Inhaling slowly, Karl crossed his arms and shook his head. He knew from experience that his robes would hide the traitorous twitching of his own prick, even with Anders’ gaze raking over him so blatantly.  
  
“Anders,” he said patiently, only to be interrupted again. Anders’ brows furrowed, his expression growing more serious than Karl could ever remember seeing on his face, and when he spoke, it was surprisingly subdued.  
  
“I heard what happened with your classes.” Of course the rumours would have spread all over the blighted Tower by now. The templars had interrupted a lesson on advanced glyphs, and Karl may not have acquiesced to go as easily as good sense dictated. Being marched upstairs with templar gauntlets digging into his upper arms, yanking his shoulders about roughly as they dragged him along had likely made quite a sight.  
  
“Then you’ll understand that I’d rather be alone.” _Please remove your delectable, nubile body from my bed._  
  
Anders looked down at the quilts, tracing invisible patterns on the well-worn fabric, but didn’t otherwise move a muscle. “I was working on my rejuvenations with Wynne when we heard. She tried to give me a sermon on how brashness solves nothing, just causes more problems. I may have told her to get stuffed.”

He couldn’t laugh at that. He _wouldn’t_.  
  
Hiding a snort under a small cough, Karl tried desperately to put on a stern face, but he could not banish the annoyed pinch of Wynne’s mouth from his mind. He liked Wynne, most of the time, but her pro-Chantry apologetics could easily become tiresome.  
  
“I’m confined to quarters until tomorrow, without supper,” Anders continued, bending his knees so his feet swung lazily over his bare bottom, looking scandalously sexy and unbearably innocent at the same time. Karl hated himself, more than a tiny bit. “But I wanted to see you.”  
  
_I’ve wiped tears from his eyes after a scraped knee. He should not look so damned **good** in my bed._  
  
Anders tucked a lock of honey blond hair behind one ear, abandoning his tracing in favour of looking up into Karl’s face again, his eyes so open and honest that Karl felt his breath hitch. This was utter foolishness. “I’m so sorry, Karl. You’re the best enchanter in the whole Tower, you’re the reason I know my magic is a gift and not a curse, and this isn’t _fair_.”  
  
_No, no, **no** … Get him out, get him out now. You dirty old man, get him out—_  
  
“Thank you, Anders,” someone said, and they were using his voice, too soft and not at all chastising. This was very bad. “If you… ah, if you’d put some clothes on, you could stay for a cup of tea. If you’d like.”  
  
_**What** did I just say?_  
  
Anders, damn him, smiled so brilliantly it was like sunrise, and Karl was forced to swallow hard over the lump in his throat or choke to death. For an instant, he wasn’t entirely certain which he’d rather.  
  


* * *

  
  
Anders wouldn’t put his robes back on, and Karl was not about to try and manhandle them on him. A compromise was reached with one of Karl’s old nightshirts, a creamy linen thing that was too thin to do much more than taunt at this point, but there was at least less wholly naked skin being flashed about.  
  
Anders was sitting against the headboard, burrowed back into the pillows with his legs folded and a steaming mug of tea cradled between his hands. Karl was perched on his desk chair, forcing his eyes to skitter away every time they threatened to glance at the nightshirt riding up over Anders’ knees, with no attempts made to tug it down.  
  
They’d chatted a bit about his classes while Karl puttered around heating water and scooping tea leaves, though they’d managed to keep the furious gnashing of teeth about this entire debacle to a minimum. Now they’d reached a strange sort of lull, and Karl was loath to make any attempts to fill it. Maker only knew what he’d end up saying at this point, and so far, Anders was behaving himself.  
  
“Don’t take this wrong,” Anders said finally, running his thumb over the rim of his cup, and Karl braced himself. That was the preface to so many hideously insulting statements. “But if you’re not allowed to teach classes anymore, are you still an enchanter?”  
  
Sighing deeply, Karl set his own cup down on the desk and leaned back, closing his eyes and rubbing absently at his temples. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t know if it even matters.”  
  
“It matters to me.” Maker’s breath, how did the little bugger move that fast? Karl snapped back to attention when Anders’ voice sounded much nearer, and the young man was already off the bed, already standing far too close for comfort in naught but that blighted shirt draped over him. Anders had been a gangly boy, always taller than the other apprentices around his age, but over the past few years he’d begun to properly fill out into his shape. His broad-shouldered, well-sculpted shape.  
  
If Karl had been standing, he might have retreated backward, but he was sitting, and the desk chair prevented him from making a graceful escape. Anders moved close enough to set his tea on the desk, their cups clinking together.  
  
“It matters to me,” he said again. “Because when you kissed me senseless and then left me standing there like a prat in that empty classroom, you said we couldn’t do anything because you were an enchanter.”  
  
_I did say that, didn’t I._  
  
Then, without any further warning, Karl found himself with a lapful of Anders. A warm, squirmy lapful.

Anders was kissing him, holding his jaw and licking his bottom lip, and Karl found his hands sliding up the pair of surprisingly firm thighs that were straddling him. Anders’ skin was so warm he felt nearly feverish, and his tongue was insistent enough that Karl opened his mouth after only a moment’s hesitation, groaning at the first taste of tea and _Anders_ that he’d been shamefully dreaming about since that thrice-blasted incident in the classroom, weeks before. The day he’d let the young man touch his wrist, then his elbow, then touch their lips together so hesitantly that Karl had not dared to break the moment with all the reasons it was a spectacularly bad idea.  
  
That kiss may not have been Anders’ very first (though Karl had his suspicions it very well could have been), but it obviously hadn’t simply been one in a long list. It had ended with Karl taking control, pressing Anders’ back against the wall and drinking in every breathy, rumbling sound he could manage to draw out of the handsome, spirited apprentice, but then reality had descended and he’d fled. He’d fled, and cursed his blasted weakness, and then he’d wanked. A lot.  
  
This time, there was no hesitance in the movements of Anders’ mouth against his, and Karl was almost disappointed. It was still a very youthful kiss— a bit sloppy, a bit rushed— but the curl of Anders’ tongue against his was enough to send a jolt of molten heat sizzling down Karl’s centre, pooling in his groin. It was a deep kiss, tickling his palette and making him groan low, and before it was over, Karl found he’d taken up two handfuls of Anders’ arse without conscious though, kneading bare flesh under the hem of the nightshirt. The reedy, mewling sound Anders cried out at the first squeeze of his hands was _gloriously_ sexy.  
  
He’d always believed in the power of sincere encouragement as a teaching tool, and that was his only excuse for the next completely absurd thing that popped out of his mouth.  
  
“You’ve gotten good at that,” he panted, as they drew apart for deeper breaths than kissing allowed. Anders’ smirked, pink from his hairline all the way down his neck, and Karl was struck with an urge to taste every inch of that flush.  
  
“I’ve been getting some practice,” Anders murmured, raising one preposterously roguish brow, and Karl growled without thinking. Anders was just as surprised by the feral sound, if his widened eyes were any indication, but Karl couldn’t risk letting that reaction be examined too closely. Anders was a… very special young man, but this couldn’t be anything more than a tumble. Anything else was too dangerous, in an untold number of ways.  
  
Surging forward, Karl caught Anders in another kiss, growling again to disguise whatever foolish sentiment had dragged the sound out of his throat in the first place. Anders' hands were gripping the sides his neck, hanging on like a drowning man, and a very eager erection was pressing down against his stomach. Anders could no doubt feel an answering hardness trapped under the thick layers of his enchanter robes, as evidenced by the furious grind of that beautiful arse down against Karl's cock.  
  
This was really going to happen. Karl knew the limits of his self-control well enough to know he was essentially beyond the point of no return, and likely had been the moment Anders had suctioned himself to his face. Possibly even since that endearing kiss in the classroom. Unless Anders decided he'd overestimated his attraction to scruffy older men, this was really going to happen.  
  
Karl couldn't help but smile a little, his mouth curving up against Anders' for the briefest moment before he drew back just enough to catch Anders' bottom lip between his teeth, tugging the sweet, reddened flesh. If it was going to happen, it might as well be fantastic.  
  
Releasing the lip only when Anders whined softly, Karl swiped his tongue apologetically along the divots his teeth had left behind, revelling in the darkened look of Anders' eyes as they stared into his face, asking a slew of silent, dazed questions. Karl had only a few answers, but he thought it likely they'd be well-received.  
  
“Get on the bed,” he whispered between soft kisses against Anders' lips and chin. “Leave the nightshirt on, and lay on your back.”

Karl stayed seated while Anders scrambled off his lap and all but threw himself onto the mattress, nightshirt so tempting tented. Forcing his mind into a few calming exercises— focusing on a steady flame in the dark, or a still, mirror-like pool of water— Karl flexed his hands against the memory of Anders' arse and oh so slowly rose to his feet. A glance up confirmed that Anders was watching him intently, biting his own lip just where Karl had done, his prick soaking a small wet spot in the thin linen of the shirt.  
  
There was something Karl needed to be completely sure of before they began in earnest, however. There was a difference between prudent detachment from messier entanglements, and a completely callous fuck.  
  
“If I ask you a personal question, Anders,” he said, undoing the belt of his robes with impressively steady hands. “Will you answer me truthfully? Please?”  
  
Anders blinked quickly, eyes darting up from watching Karl's hands to meet his gaze. “I... Yes.”  
  
It was a testament to _something_ (something that would remain largely unacknowledged) that Anders offered such a straightforward answer. In all honesty, Karl had been expecting a mildly suspicious _that depends_ , and quickly pushed past the curl of warmth that bloomed in his chest.  
  
“Tell me,” he said, letting the belt drop with a thud and reaching down to grab the skirt of his robes, pulling the entire layered mess over his head in one smooth, practiced move. Shaking his mussed hair, Karl kept the rumpled ball of fabric held strategically over his bare crotch, while Anders made a tiny, rather flattering noise in the back of his throat. “Have you ever been with a man before?”  
  
The question made him feel like a character in a bad romance, and not even one of the especially steamy ones, but it had to be asked. The answer made him bite back a groan.  
  
“No.” Fidgeting a little, Anders propped himself up on his elbows, staring at a spot somewhere in the vicinity of the footboard. “I've not... been with anyone. Not really.”  
  
Karl had a young, handsome, golden virgin in his bed.  
  
“All right,” he said, instead of the babbling tripe that was threatening to spill forth. He refused to ask if Anders was _sure_ , trusting the young man's choice was at least somewhat well-considered, but he wasn't going to simply pounce on him either. “As though I needed more reason to go slowly and savour this, with such a gorgeous man in my bed. We'll take our time.”  
  
Anders flushed dark at the compliment, twin spots of colour rising ruddy on his fair cheeks, and Karl tossed his robes aside. Moving to rest one knee on the edge of the bed, Karl let his own gaze trail hotly from Anders' long, slightly knobby toes, up the lightly furred lengths of his calves, then higher as Anders stretched under his scrutiny. Leaning forward to balance on his arms, Karl crawled up towards his new lover, taking hold of one slender foot and lifting it to his mouth.  
  
The first kiss against the centre of the sole made Anders squirm, knee jerking, and Karl paused in his attentions before they'd even begun. “Don't tell me you're ticklish.”  
  
“I'm _not_ —” Anders' denial was less convincing when a broad lick from his arch to his toes ended in an actual squeal, as high pitched as a stuck nug, which then dissolved into near-hysterical giggles as Karl sent to his task in earnest. “Ah! Maker, _Karl_ , stop it—”  
  
“But it's funny, sweetheart.” The endearment slipped out accidentally, and went deliberately unremarked. Shifting his kisses briefly to Anders' ankle instead, Karl grinned toothily and levered himself up until his hips settled lightly between Anders' parted thighs, and he was hovering above the other man with his arms braced on the mattress.  
  
“Karl,” Anders gasped again, arching up until his cock slid against Karl's stomach. Feeling rather magnanimous (and increasingly turned on), Karl rolled his hips, brushing their erections together with nothing but a single layer of thin linen between them. Anders moaned loudly at the sensation, and Karl dipped his head to claim more wet, increasingly ardent kisses as they rocked together.

It had been a while, _quite_ a while, since Karl had been with anyone who could even marginally qualify as a virgin, and significantly longer since he’d first done the deed himself. He had fond memories of his first time, however, as brief and fumbling as it had been. He’d been foolishly young, younger than Anders, and Sophie had been a year older, lovely and kind. She said she thought his eyes looked clear and strikingly blue, like pools of cool water, and had let him kiss the curve of her throat (he could still recall the scent of soap and the barest hint of vanilla on her skin). He hadn’t been her first, which was lucky, considering he’d spilled himself before he’d even properly bottomed out, stuttering into the most incredible heat and slickness he’d ever experienced.  
  
He remembered she hadn’t laughed at him, just carded her long, deeply brown fingers through his hair as he panted like a beast against her small, firm breasts, trying to piece his scattered thoughts back together. Then she’d shown him just where to use his hands and his mouth to make her fly apart too, and when he’d gotten hard just from listening to her sigh with pleasure, she’d let him slide between her legs again, doing much better the second time.  
  
Sophie had been the one to explain to him why his infatuated fawning afterward was a terrible idea, and he’d been so gutted by the entire thing. He’d shouted and argued like an idiot, and she’d listened to his raving with a sad smile, and apology in her dark, almond eyes. And then he’d stormed out, come crawling back less than a fortnight later, and she’d let him make love to her again, quietly in her bed, though he never dared call it that aloud for fear she'd toss him out.  
  
It wasn’t a month after that when Sophie simply didn’t come to breakfast one morning, and the rumours had flown about that she’d been taken for her Harrowing. Karl never saw her again, which was only slightly better than seeing her every single day, puttering around a stockroom with a wholly vacant expression.  
  
The entire experience was an old, well-scabbed wound, but there were some parts of the memory that could still make Karl’s heart beat a bit faster. He would show Anders the same courtesy and care, and hopefully the young man would one day look back on this memory fondly, too.  
  
Letting Anders rut against him wasn’t an unpleasant experience by any stretch of the imagination, but it also wasn’t precisely how he planned this would go. Trailing his mouth down Anders’ throat, Karl could smell the same soap (the hard, herbal cakes that had been standard in the apprentice baths for as long as Karl had been there), under a distinctly masculine, spicy tang. He could feel Anders’ pulse pounding under his lips, quicker even than the jerks of his eager hips, and Karl decided to get them back on more even ground before the young man gave himself an apoplexy.  
  
“Mm, just like that.” Licking from neck to ear, Karl breathed hotly against the wet trail he’d left behind, then brushed his mouth against Anders’ lobe. “Your taste, Anders, so sweet and clean… Does this feel good?” Very deliberately, Karl pressed down against Anders’ hips, grinding hard and slowly as he suckled a red mark onto the soft hollow just behind Anders’ jaw.  
  
“Maker, _yes_ —” Anders’ fingers were digging into his shoulders, almost too desperately, but the slight sting helped to keep Karl focused. The nightshirt bunched between them, quickly dampening with sweat, and a bit of a yank on the fabric brought their cocks skin to skin, sliding with perspiration. “So good… feels so good, please…”  
  
“I want to taste more,” he whispered, letting one hand trail downward, over rumpled fabric to take Anders’ straining cock in hand, giving an immediate, precautionary squeeze around the base. Gasping curses, thrusting into the touch, Anders didn’t seem to mind when Karl scooted down again.  
  
He _really_ didn’t seem to mind a mouth on his prick, but Karl couldn’t think of many young men who would.

“Fuck—” Anders choked out the word, clawing at Karl’s shoulders with short, blunt nails. “Oh, oh _fuck_!”  
  
Trying to employ any advanced techniques would be largely a lost cause when the recipient was as precariously close to orgasm as only an overexcited virgin could be, but Karl tried to make it last as long as possible without teasing. Rubbing his tongue firmly along Anders’ skin, lapping up salty precome, Karl reached up and took hold of one of Anders’ wrists, prying the grip from his shoulder just long enough to transfer it to his head.  
  
Anders’ fingers immediately tightened in his hair, making a warbling, questioning kind of noise, and Karl glanced up at him with as encouraging an expression as he could managed with a cock in his mouth. Keeping his own hand on the back of Anders’, Karl pushed down against his own head, relaxing his jaw as the cock slid deeper over his tongue.  
  
Thankfully, Anders seemed to get the message quickly, groaning brokenly and thrusting up into Karl’s mouth without further encouragement. Karl gave a pleased hum in response, sucking sloppily as much as Anders’ movements allowed.  
  
_That’s it, lovely, let go. Let me have all of you._  
  
It wasn’t surprising that Anders didn’t last particularly long after that— a few more thrusts, their rhythm desperate and chaotic, and then Anders was pulsing against his tongue, painting the back of his throat with seed as Karl swallowed it all greedily. He felt as though he might have crescent-shaped divots in his scalp, and he certainly had a few smarting marks on in his shoulders, but the dishevelled, debauched young man currently shuddering under him was Karl’s primary concern. Letting Anders’ cock fall free with a wet pop, Karl licked his lips and crawled back up to nuzzle at a very lightly stubbled jaw.  
  
Anders’ chest was heaving like bellows, and Karl had just begun stroking his sides soothingly, when Anders turned his head and caught Karl in a hard, messy kiss, seemingly intent on seeking out every taste of himself lingering in Karl’s mouth. The plan had been to ease into kissing again, on the chance Anders might be put off by the idea of sharing his own flavour, but apparently that wasn’t an issue.  
  
“So good,” Anders murmured when they eventually broke apart, after he’d thoroughly explored every nook and cranny, and his emboldened hands had begun running through the light, honey-brown hair of Karl’s chest. “Better… better than tasting it off my fingers.”  
  
_Oh Maker have **mercy** … In the name of all that’s good and holy, I’m only a mortal man._  
  
“You taste yourself, off your fingers.” It wasn’t a question, and it was far too husky and hoarse to be Karl’s voice, but the words had somehow come out of his mouth.  
  
It didn’t take much effort to pull the nightshirt over Anders’ head and toss it somewhere over the side of the bed, though fabric may have torn. With his prize bare and ready for the taking again, and the image of Anders lapping hot, sticky come from his fingers burning itself into his mind, Karl descended ruthlessly.  
  
He scraped his teeth over one pink, pebbled nipple just before suckling it hard, and Anders’ surprised moan washed over him like a wave of pure heat. Anders would need to learn to quiet down in future— Kinloch Hold hardly leant itself well to noisy, shrieking sex, unless you knew some of the secret passages to long-abandoned rooms— but for now, for this first time, Karl let him be as loud as his enthusiasm demanded.  
  
Leaving an obscene number of bite marks in his wake, taking far too much pleasure in bruising the other man’s pale skin, Karl mapped Anders’ chest and lovely, firm stomach with zeal. It was refreshing to hear every honest, delighted sound and feel every unschooled reaction as Anders gave himself over to the sensations— refreshing, and inflaming, and Karl nibbled gently at Anders’ navel for a few more moments before deciding it was time to move on to the next part.  
  
“Anders.” Looking more than a little dazed, Anders peered down at him, blinking slowly. “Will you turn over for me?”

For perhaps the first time since this entire encounter began, Anders’ expression tightened with true nervousness. Petting his shifting thighs, Karl offered a reassuring smile. “Anders, sweetheart—” The endearment was intentional this time, but forgivable. He was merely trying to put the man at ease. “If you’d rather I not take you like that, that’s fine. There are other things we can do.”  
  
“N-no.” Reaching out, Anders took hold of Karl’s ears and pulled him gently up for a shaky kiss. When he spoke again, the words were barely a breath shared between their lips, but his amber eyes were open and determined. “No, I want you. I want you inside, filling me up.”  
  
_This must be a dream. Is this the Fade? Is this a desire demon? No living person can possibly be that damned adorable and **fuckable** at the same time, can they?  
  
Maker forgive me; I don’t care._  
  
“It will feel wonderful,” he promised fervently, wondering when his sex dreams had become so damned saccharine. “I swear.”  
  
_Always. They’ve always been like this. Blight and blast, for a usually sensible man I have such an idiotically romantic cock._  
  
Getting Anders moved around was fairly simple, and Karl made sure he had enough pillows under his hips to keep the angle comfortable. The sight of that perfect arse poised and waiting for his touch was intoxicating, but Karl reined himself in sharply, focusing on his goal of driving Anders out of his mind with pleasure.  
  
The first touch of his palm, just above the dimples at the small of Anders’ back, ended with a flinch, but Karl was undeterred. Moving close, he leaned over until the length of his body was pressed warmly against Anders’ back, but kept his raging erection well away from the tempting valley between those firm cheeks.  
  
“All right?” he asked quietly, rubbing slow circles over Anders’ spine and nuzzling into the silk of his hair.  
  
“Mmhm.” Karl may have been imagining it, but he could have sworn he actually heard Anders swallow. “Yes, I’m fine.”  
  
Karl’s first time with another man hadn’t been nearly as memorable as Sophie, nor had it ended quite as unfortunately. They’d both been barely twenty, neither knew more than the theoretical basics of what they were doing without a cunny involved, and William hadn’t prepared him nearly well enough before pushing inside. It had _hurt_ , though no permanent damage with a bit of healing magic, and now even nearly a decade later, they still enjoyed the occasional tumble.  
  
There was something to be said for experience, even if it occasionally made one feel like a dirty lecher sullying the innocence of youth. Kissing Anders’ shoulder as the man pillowed his head on his folded arms, Karl started a meandering path down the knobs of his spine, alternating between kisses, licks, and nips. Eventually, before he’d made it down past ribs, he had Anders squirming and sighing again.  
  
“Calm,” he said, slowly kneading Anders’ arse as he moved farther and farther down, until finally he was faced with a tantalising virgin arsehole, clenched tight even as Anders spread his thighs wide. “Be calm and listen to me, sweetheart. I’ll go no further than you want.”  
  
“Maker,” Anders all but whined, craning his neck around to look at Karl with an agonisingly pleading expression, all gleaming, liquid eyes and pouty, bitten lips. “I don't... I don't know what I want, but I _want_ something. Please, Karl.”  
  
“We'll figure it out.” Using one dry thumb, Karl brushed a feather-light caress over Anders' hole, taking note of the shiver that elicited. Not a bad reaction. “Here, tell me if this feels good.”  
  
Bending low meant losing Anders' gaze, but it was a fair trade when it brought him close enough to breathe against that sensitive, puckered flesh. Anders smelled clean but musky here, and Karl couldn't help but imagine the falsely brazen young man scrubbing himself so thoroughly before sneaking upstairs and laying himself out across Karl's bed like a delicious sacrifice to the gods of old degenerate mages.

“What in the Void—” Anders began to say, but then Karl flicked his tongue out for a first taste, and the question ended in a yelp, Anders' entire body jerking forward into the pillows. Keeping hold of the man's arse, thumbs spreading freckled cheeks wide, Karl leaned over to catch Anders gawping back at him.  
  
“You're not ticklish here too, are you?”  
  
“What... what are you _doing_?” Anders voice was a squeak, his eyes as wide as saucers, and Karl allowed himself a sly grin.  
  
“I am going to lick you,” he said, then licked his own lips for emphasis. “And kiss and suck, and wriggle my tongue deep into your sweet arse. Is that all right?”  
  
_Trust me, sweetheart, and I'll have you **begging—**_  
  
Anders didn't answer, except to cant his hips back with a few needy whimpers, and that was more than sufficient. Karl bent back to his task with gusto, latching on and sucking hard, chuckling darkly at the wanton press of Anders' arse against his mouth. He fluttered his tongue again, feeling Anders' muscles quiver beautifully in response, then proceeded to lick vigorously, adding a light scrape of teeth here and there, until the pucker loosened for him, letting him slip inside bit by bit.  
  
The root of his tongue was starting to burn with exertion by the time he was as deep as he could manage, thrusting in mimicry of the intense buggering he was aching to give, and Anders was keening nearly constantly, hands clawing at the quilts as his hips jerked and rolled. Drawing back just enough to thoroughly wet his thumb, Karl turned his kisses to the swells of Anders' arse cheeks, slowly pressing his slick digit into Anders' gripping heat. There was resistance, nervous clenching again, and Karl retreated with a murmur, then returned an instant later with his fingers drenched in warm oil.  
  
If they did this again, he was going to show Anders all the fantastic, innovative uses mages had discovered over the years for the simplest spells. Lightning, applied properly and with all due caution, was a particular favourite.  
  
“Let me in, Anders,” he said softly, when muscle squeezed too hard around the gradual intrusion of one finger. “Come now, relax. Does it feel good?”  
  
“I don't—” Groaning, Anders forced himself to unclench, and Karl slid that little bit farther, seeking a particular knob of nerves— “ _Ah_! Fucking bloody _fuck_ —”  
  
_There_ it was.  
  
A few moments of prostate massage had Anders melting, opening enough to work a second finger inside, which was followed by ample stretching and an increasingly diverse litany of curses.  
  
“Maker,” Anders panted eventually, sweat rolling down his flexing back and making his hair curl damply at his nape. Soon enough, Karl would be biting that nape. “M-Maker's mangy bollocks, _enough_... Karl, please...”  
  
Three fingers, just for good measure, twisted and bent until Anders squealed, and then it was time. Ignoring the mild shaking in his own hands, Karl lined himself up properly, calling up another handful of grease. It was very likely an excessive amount, and his quilts were quickly approaching sodden, but that didn't matter. This wasn't going to hurt at all. Slicking himself, Karl touched the head of his cock ever so gently against Anders' reddened entrance, suppressing his own snarl in favour of listen to Anders mutter and groan.  
  
“Damn it, yes—” Holding himself steady, Karl pushed inside slowly, using shallow, rocking thrusts to keep things comfortable. “Maker, so _big_...”  
  
_A sacred gift to the ego, this lad. He **must** be a desire demon._  
  
Once the broadest part of his head breached the ring of Anders' arse, Karl let go of the breath he'd only been partially aware had been caught in his throat.  
  
“I... _oh_...” Anders grunted between half-formed words, and Karl kept up his slow, easy rocking until he brushed prostate. “That's... Ah-Andraste's knickerweasels! Again, _more_!”  
  
_Knickerweasels?_  
  
Snorting breathlessly, Karl rested his forehead against Anders' back and tried not to dissolve into laughter.

Thankfully, Anders was a bit too distracted to notice Karl's lapse into mild hysteria— laughter was a joyous, wonderful thing, especially in bed, but being laughed _at_ was not an experience anyone should have to suffer when delving into sex for the first time. Getting hold of himself again, Karl took a few deep breaths and let Anders' babbling wash over him, stroking his ego just as insistently as the tight, virgin walls of his arse stroked his prick.  
  
It may have been terribly cliche, something better saved for the hideously flamboyant romances from Antiva he kept _very_ well-hidden inside his mattress (and that Anders didn't appear to have found, thank the Maker), but Karl was rather enjoying the man's panting monologue on the impressive magnitude of his penis. It was foolish, but every single gasp of _so big_ or _Maker, there's **more**?_ made his cock swell that little bit firmer, and his smile twitch wider.  
  
“You're doing so well,” he murmured, keeping up the steady, easy rock of his hips as he bent forward, brushing kisses against Anders' shoulder. “You're so hot inside, sweetheart, so silken. You feel so lovely...”  
  
“ _Karl_ —” Now that the most intense part of the stretching was over, Anders had started humping against the pillow under him, driving Karl's inching thrusts in all that much deeper and faster. Spurred on by that extra bit of eagerness, Karl _pushed_ , until his hips were flush against Anders' arse, biting softly into the muscle of one pale shoulder as Anders keened his name again.  
  
He stopped, content to let them both calm down for just a moment no matter how badly he wanted to press Anders hard against the mattress and fuck him stupid, but then Anders was reaching back to yank his hair, drawing him up into some desperate mash of lips and tongues that could barely qualify as a kiss, begging for more between ragged breaths, and that was _that_.  
  
It was all grunting and gasps from then on, and the wet slap of skin against skin, and as gentle as he tried to be, Anders was right there, pushing clumsily back into every thrust and clawing at his quilts. Given enough practice, Karl could easily see the incredible lover Anders had the potential to become— he was so raw, drinking in every sensation with gusto, the last vestiges of shyness giving way to a hedonistic, writhing mass of man. He didn't know enough to be especially generous as he bucked against Karl, but nor was he selfish. He simply _felt_ , taking and giving with a sort of abandon that Karl found himself praying fervently would not be beaten out of him through an ugly future.  
  
A quiet, quickly silenced part of Karl's mind was overcome with fantasy of what it might be like to help the young man explore that potential... to protect him and revel in him in equal measure.  
  
_Maker, he's too beautiful for this cage._  
  
When Anders came, shrieking like a cat with its tail caught in a door, Karl blinked through the sweat stinging his eyes and kept milking man's cock with one hand, groaning brokenly through the vice squeezing his own prick. He was surprisingly close to orgasm as well, which could easily be attributed to the glorious vision Anders made caught up in ecstasy, with one flushed cheek pressed into the quilts, craning his neck around, and his kiss-swollen lips parted and moist. Hitching Anders' quickly slackening body forward, bracing them both, Karl let himself go, hips snapping with a few sharp, deep thrusts.  
  
When _he_ came, it was with a roar stifled in his throat, and a single warm amber eye peering back at him from the mess of blankets, alight with some manner of sated wonder.

* * *

 

Letting Anders stay and sleep for a while was simply polite, and certainly nothing else. Karl had always enjoyed the feeling of another body in his bed while he slept, anyway, and it was easy to drift off with Anders curled up beside him.  
  
And then sometime later, when he blinked awake to the sound of Dermot's whistling (always with the blighted _whistling_ ), and a warm weight settled over his stomach and between his legs, Karl remembered why having an apprentice in his rooms, naked and debauched, was probably not the wisest thing he'd ever done. Especially not with Greagoir already keen to remind him of his bridle.  
  
The privacy screen was still in place, and Anders was completely hidden under the quilts, but the smell of sex was lingering faintly. That wouldn't have been an issue if it was William or Leorah currently sucking on his nipple, but this little tryst was a bit more complicated.  
  
Reaching down, Karl lifted the edge of the blankets just enough to see Anders mussed head bent against his chest, looking as pleased as a kitten with cream as he licked and suckled at Karl's skin.  
  
“ _Shh_ ,” he hissed softly, and when Anders glanced up, he pointed in the direction of Dermot's horrifically butchered version of _Dane's Lament_. The son of a bitch could never even whistle anything cheery. “Shh.”  
  
“Shh,” Anders agreed, with the least trustworthy smirk Karl had ever had the pleasure of witnessing, before sliding his hand down to rub firmly against Karl's cock.  
  
_You little **brat**._  
  
Biting his lip hard, Karl pressed his head back into the pillows and dropped the quilt. Anders started a meandering trail, mouthing wet kisses all the way down until Karl could feel moist lips and hot breath against his quickly hardening prick.  
  
He could already see how this would end. He couldn't say no to this brilliant spitfire of a man, he'd proven that already, but by Andraste's pyre, he _would_ keep things as casual as he possible could. For the good of them both.  
  
“Maker,” he whispered, a benediction scarcely louder than a breath, as Anders' tongue licked against the head of his cock, lapping up the hint of precome he knew was already beading there. He'd been dreaming of that mouth, even as it trailed fire across his chest, and his half-hard prick was proof enough that he was completely, idiotically _ruined_ , even in dreams.  
  
Maker have mercy, this cheeky little bastard was going to be the death of him.  
  
END

 

**Author's Note:**

> Some gorgeous fan art inspired by this story:  
> [Karl & Anders by syberfag](http://syberfag.tumblr.com/post/9395121321/fanart-of-this-awesomely-sexy-fic-by-pibroch-go)  
> [Anders by liripip](http://liripip.tumblr.com/post/9127704719/daii-fandom-is-full-of-so-much-talent-that-i-feel)
> 
> <3


End file.
